You're standing under a tree. It's leaves are a brilliant green, drops of water hanging from it, and silken, fractal webs delicatly woven between the limbs of the peaceful being. A golden arachnid takes her place in the center, eight legs all stretched out in a symmetrical fashion, patiently waiting for some adventurous little creature to find it's way into her trap. Her abdomen is spotted black, eight dots, eight legs, eight ever-watchful eyes.
The sun is bright, shining directly into your bleeding eyes. There is glass stuck between the lids, cutting at your eyes as the blood runs down your face and you tear at it in frustration. This is terribly uncomfortable for you, I know.
There's a scent in the air, soft and beautiful, sweet, aromatic. Flowers, red and golden, orange and silver, purple, blue, white. Acres and acres of wildflowers. You collapse amongst them, letting out a pained groan as the glass continues to dig, dig, dig, making it's way deeper into your eye sockets. This is painful for you, I know.
Snap! The golden arachnid has moved. She's wrapping a gift, a paralyzed gift up in shining silk, strong as any another string. The fly twitches pathetically, bitten and sticky, unable to move as it is trapped, wrapped. You wonder if the creature is claustraphobic and hope not for it's sake.
The puncture wound in your side is covered in flies. It's as if the spider is doing a favour for you, as you devours one of your enemies. You lay bleeding and wounded, fingernails taking off layers of skin, the pieces of you becoming trapped, folds of skin under nails. How pretty.
The sun blazes, your burnt skin curling and peeling to reveal a fresh layer. 'Water', you murmur to the spider, but she answers none, either unhearing or uncaring, probably both.
As your eyes glaze over, the last thing you see is the beedy eyes of the spider locked on yours, all eight everwatchful eyes burning into yours. 'You did this', you mutter, and a thought crosses your mind.